December 13, 2006

As I may already have mentioned, I’ve just got back from a trip to Reykjavik.

Upon arriving, there was a blizzard, after which it rained, froze, snowed again, thawed, and then froze again. This meteorological circumstance rendered the whole of the town an ice rink. Only with hills. Big steep hills.

Before carrying on, I feel I should point out that I am fully aware that national stereotyping is traditionally embarked upon by bigots, the ill-informed, and the Dutch. However, I found the Icelandic to be kind, helpful, terrifyingly punctual people. Yet like all peoples, they find it necessary to mock me in their own special way.

While I struggled to get around town, sliding about like Bambi on Ketamine, I was overtaken by OAPs, toddlers, uphill by a man with his child slung nonchalantly over his shoulder, and once by a man on an electric buggy. Once this happened while I was being laughed at by a car full of children.

December 12, 2006

I have just returned from a rather pleasant break to Reykjavik. And most enjoyable it was, too.

As a semi-professional spotter of whimsy, imagine my delight to see my first instance of public service graffiti, daubed on a wall just off of Laugavegur.

How nice of the local roustabouts not to just daub walls with meaningless drivel like “TOX 06”, but with a message intended to educate the masses. I fully expected to peek down the next alleyway to find “Did you know that the square root of 196 is 14?”

How wrong I was to underestimate the ambition, erudition, and sheer oneupmanship of the Icelandic youth. Only 10 meters down the road, I found this; a guide to the application of neckwear to the generously-moustachioed gentleman-about-town.

I’m only upset that I couldn’t find a shop to buy any spraypaint, in order to apply some much-needed monocles.